


What We Did Wrong

by Swine



Category: A Hat in Time (Video Game)
Genre: (Hopefully) Updates Every Other Friday, Canonical Character Death, Enemies to Friends (To Family), Eventual Bow Kid, Fluff and Angst, Hat Kid and Snatcher learn healthy coping mechanisms, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, prince!snatcher
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:55:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28061286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swine/pseuds/Swine
Summary: Snatcher was a much different person than he used to be—and he was thankful for it. Hat Kid is much of the same way, her experiences shaping her to be independent and stubborn. The two really don't realize how similar they are. The more time they spend together, the more they understand just how dependent they can really be. The more they understand how good of a thing that might be.
Relationships: Hat Kid & Snatcher (A Hat in Time), The Prince & Queen Vanessa (A Hat in Time)
Comments: 35
Kudos: 69





	1. Duet

Another wrong note. 

He cringed, removing the violin from under his chin. He listened to the piano next to him give a soft decrescendo, it's dark mahogany glistening in the room’s dim light. Letting the tip of his bow touch the floor, he heaved a quiet sigh. 

“I’m sorry,” He couldn’t help but apologize. Furrowing his brows, he gave an unhappy smile. It was face the Prince wore often, though the bad habit was nothing that needed attention—least of all from something so miniscule. Despite this, Vanessa sat patiently at her piano with her hands placed curtly in her lap. He couldn’t help but compare her grace to the instrument she sounded, her tender gaze eliciting soft melodies in three to float about in his mind. He’d like to consider himself a foil to her, the awkward words he fumbled around her—outside of the study—tantamount to the stilted notes that struggled to breathe out of his own instrument. “I hadn’t realized how difficult it would be to play with a right-handed violin…” His frustrated breath fluttered the pages of his sheet music slightly, the notes of their waltz displayed across the pages. The waltz was so welcomingly familiar, so warm. He remembers sessions in which he practiced for hours, stopping only until the notes upon the page gave him a migraine. 

“Oh!” She leaned closer to him on the bench with a cute sort of curiosity, examining the violin he clutched. The gesture made him flush, despite their being together for more than a few years. The instrument was admittedly only beautiful in the way that most are, with its elegance hidden within the strings one could play rather than a typical intrinsic beauty. Its maple base hadn’t the subtle shine that the piano held, the black chinrest glistening a bit in the candle light. “I had no idea there was a difference… You should have told me!”

“It’s quite alright!” Almost on instinct, he attempted to deflect the idea. Another habit of his that he hadn’t thought to bring attention to. Vanessa shook her head and turned. Slowly, she let her fingers gently touch the keys of the piano. It was a practice tune that reused the same five notes of a single scale. Nothing impressive. Yet, there was a way that Vanessa played that was alluring to him, the notes much more delicate, almost fragile as they lingered in the air. 

“I’ll get you one immediately. I know how much you’ve wanted us to play together,” She looked onto him calmly as she played, turning her head almost slightly. An étude he thinks it was. Or perhaps a prelude. He strained himself trying to recall. Something he remembers vividly was how soft her voice had been. Her piano-like voice blended with their song in his thoughts.

The idea of the duet was unquestionably romantic. His excitement for the idea had almost bore annoyance, at least he certainly believed so. And yet, she always listened to what he had to say with a smile. She gave a little laugh at the situation and he felt his face soften. His fingers slightly loosened on the grip of the violin’s neck. “A left handed violin…! It will be my gift to you. How does that sound?”

Part of him wanted to insist that it wasn’t necessary. To say that he was getting along just fine with what he had. He had never noticed; despite being a prince he never allowed himself the felicities that others managed to enjoy. Another bad habit.

“It sounds perfect,” He said with a tender smile. 

The very next day his violin arrived. It was in a black leather case of which was wrapped in a fine blue ribbon. The violin itself, he noted, was made of an exquisite dark spruce. Etched into the back of its neck was his name, carved so carefully. “For you, my dear Prince” read a note inside one of the pouches within the case, her handwriting delicate on the thin parchment it displayed itself on. He loved it. It was days he spent practicing, the heartbeat of their waltz flowing through his mind. He always smiled as he practiced, more so when he did it with her. 

Perhaps that was it. 

He had spent too much time practicing. None with her. Not truly. It was understandable, he supposed. He felt a droplet of freezing water hit his face, very slowly and nearly painfully trickling down his face. He made no real effort to wipe it off, the rusted chains just past his shoulders giving a blaring rattle. His arms were quite preoccupied. 

The cellar was dimly lit. An uncomfortable sort of silence filled the place, aside from the occasional trickle of water droplets that trailed down the wall. Some of the alcohol that had been stored in the kegs had dripped slowly from its faucets and unto the damp floor. It created a puddle of a repulsive ichor, its stench making tears well from the edges of his eyes. It never was his favorite room in the mansion. He always believed the place to be pointless—neither of them were much for drinking. For the occasion, he supposed it had come in use. At this, he attempted to give a dry chuckle, though all he could manage was a pathetic wheeze that just barely escaped his throat. It took everything to stop the attempt to devolve into a pitiful coughing fit, the dust and filth that defined the room just beginning to crawl down his throat and fill his lungs.

As he hung limp on the cellar wall he sniffled. He wished for at least the sunlight to filter in the room. To get an idea of light or time other than the two candles that sat at the edges of the room that melted far too quickly. Or perhaps it was the moonlight that he should have been expecting. He could not give an accurate guess to how long he was in the room for. Not that it mattered. Enough time had passed for him to realize that he had been in the locked cellar for a very long time. He wanted to say it was far too long, but part of him understood that he deserved this—somehow. 

That must have been it. He should have been more considerate. He could have done more—for her sake. And instead he locked himself away while she managed on her own, devoid of attention. He wanted to cry, but he would not allow himself to. He did not deserve to. And some part of him believed in his own salvation. Someone would be coming. Even through the frostbite that crawled up his arms, with the excruciating water droplets that trickled down his back, he did not cry. Someone would most definitely be coming for him. No, he would not die alone in a cellar, because of course, he had to apologize. 

For what exactly, he still could not completely grasp.

* * *

“What were you like when you were alive?” She asked with a typical childlike curiosity. 

“...What?” He finally put his book down, staring at the girl who unabashedly perched comfortably next to him despite his known reputation. She didn’t seem to falter from his confused gaze, that same interested and plain smile sitting on her lips. She straightened her posture slightly, placing her hands in her lap as she leaned toward him. The gesture was vaguely familiar in a way he almost recognized.

“You know… when you were breathing?” She tilted her head a bit in thought, much like a confused dog. “I’m only assuming you weren’t always a ghost.” Her accent was one of the first things you would notice about her, a childish nasal tainting its tone. After more than a few moments with her, one would begin to realize that the child didn’t reign from Earth. She looked human, yes, but she didn’t quite sound like one. And Snatcher knew from experience that she didn’t act like one either. They both sat in the corner of her bedroom, bright and colorful with the stack of pillows he used as a collective nonexistent-foot rest. From the window, he could clearly make out his planet spinning slowly and quietly in the breadth of space. It almost looked peaceful. Perhaps memories of people and places tainted his idea of Earth, annoyances crawling into his domain too frequently altogether.

Frankly, _she_ annoyed him. Obviously. Her questions annoyed him more so, and yet he stayed. Though he was never much for children in the first place, the child’s fearlessness was something he would spot in heroes. The girl was far from a hero, of course. She let him live after all. When she had proven herself formidable, when he was unable to beat her, she had become more of a nuisance than an enemy. An enemy was dangerous of course, but it was something he much preferred to a pest. Too often, she would stalk around his forest, obnoxiously making her presence known with that vividly garish soul of hers. Every few moments that he had believed himself to have a moment of respite, there she was snooping about his quiet kingdom for something she might have missed or—even worse—trying to make conversation. So he settled on killing her. 

It was grueling, watching as she would just barely make it through one of his contracts. He was getting close. He felt her frustration, heard her scowls at the brief comments he’d make as she attempted to complete his unfair tasks. Her perseverance was the hardest to break. He gave a short glance to his right at the tattered map filled to the brim with golden stamps. Small childish doodles littered the paper in areas the stamps did not cover, drawings that the kid must have made while he wasn’t looking.

He gave an exhausted huff, once again opening his book in disinterest. “Do you know how it’s rude to ask a lady her age?” He asked. He supposed someone like her knowing manners would be an oxymoron. 

“Vaguely,” She said nonetheless, fidgeting with the brim of her cape. There was a look of pending disappointment on her face as she twirled the fabric around her finger.

“It’s the same thing,” He waved with a hand, flipping a page. His voice was uncharacteristically mellow as he gave his refusal for an answer, though he supposed he acted subconsciously. It wasn’t ‘his territory’. He understood the absurdity of having his territorial mindset extend to a ten year old girl’s home, and there wasn’t any real reason for his actions other than the idea of losing to someone like her again, yet the very thought nearly made him shiver in a way he hadn’t in decades. “Can’t ask a dead person stuff like that.”

“Why not?” Another question. 

“I don’t make the rules,” He paused a moment, staring at the page with slight contemplation. “Well I actually do. I just don’t care to answer.” 

“So nothing?” She asked once again, a tone of disappointment shining through her voice. His smile creased at this, the kid making it brazenly known that she hadn’t listened. “You can’t spare just a little bit of information?” If it weren’t for his patience, he would already be home. Perhaps reading in his cozy armchair he’s had for decades, protecting his forest from menial threats. Murdering innocents, taking their souls, and looting their corpses. But he was patient. He had all the time in the world, and lucky for him, that child did not. 

“I can’t,” He said. Despite his careful patience, he felt something of a grumble roll from his tongue. “If you don’t have any contracts to fulfill, then scram.” She gave something of an indignant huff.

“Fine.” She relented. “What do you have?”

“Oh, all sorts!” His mood lifted like the flip of a coin, reaching an excited hand toward the map with littered stamps that were littered about the page. “I actually made a new one—in my swamp? You miiight suffocate, but lucky for you that’s absolutely what I’m counting on. So a win-win!” As he gestured headily to the page, Hat Kid’s eyes drifted from his finger toward the upper left of the parchment. He hadn’t noticed the way the border of the page had been cloaked with shadow, the silhouette of the mansion barely visible even against the harsh lighting of the child’s ship. Only one stamp dared to sit near the edge of the mansion’s walls, purple in color.

“Question!” She said with a slight lilt to her voice as she casually raised her hand. Snatcher only thought to give an annoyed sigh as a response. She lifted her finger and pointed toward the dreary splotch of forgotten memories that sat alone on the page. “Why don’t you have anything here?” He paused at this, staring at the simplistic map for just a moment. He didn’t allow himself to think.

“It’s not my territory,” He answered truthfully for the first time in quite a while. Hat Kid furrowed her eyebrows.

“Territory? You mean theres something there that's not yours?”

“Haven’t you, I dunno, been there before?” He asked with a hint of disdain. He ‘ruled’ the whole of the forest, rule in quotes due to his very lackluster ideals in leadership. But Vanessa—She kept to herself in the reaches of Subcon. There was nothing he could do about that. There was nothing he truly cared to do about it. “I faintly remember a contract that you almost failed to uphold.”

“What?” She seemed almost insulted at the prospect, raising a surprised hand to her chest. “I totally did all of that! With the lady and the hiding? It was terrible!” Snatcher gave a frustrated snort.

“Not only did I tell you not to use any hats—”

“And I said— ‘A mask is not a hat, it’s’—”

“But I wanted you to grab me something from the manor.” He gestured toward the planet that spun silently outside of the great spaceship window, as if the entirety of the world revolved for their decrepit mansion. 

“Huh?” She seemed genuine in her confusion, adjusting the brim of her hat upward to see Snatcher’s face better. “But I did! I got a time piece!”

“Kid, do you really think I’d ask you to go to that place for something you wanted?” Her thought process was slow and almost visible, the dots she very weakly began to connect pathetically filtering through her mind. From the ledge, she slid into her heap of pillows. She pressed her back very casually on a particularly large and disturbingly pink one.

“Well then, what did you want?”

“I dunno!” He answered with a coy smile. Hat Kid huffed through her nose as she stared at the entity that subtly tested her. He truly had no answer as to what or why he needed a keepsake. Maybe part of him wanted to reminisce, though as absorbed in his own thoughts he may tend to be, he never found much use in drowning in them. The truth may have been spite, though he doubted the credibility of that possibility as well. Decades are decades. Time passes. And at the end of the day, she was just a bad ex. It happens to the best of people. He couldn’t say that he harbored any resentment toward the beast that wandered aimlessly through their old home. She seemed to only obsess over the past. He died a very long time ago, and decades are decades. And at the end of the day, he’s still a dead man. Frankly, he should thank her. “Listen, all I wanted was something from that manor.”

“Why didn’t you make me go back?”

“...Because technically, you did what the contract said.” With a burst of purple smoke, a yellowed parchment appeared in place of the cartoonish map as well as a small set of reading glasses he didn’t have any real use for. “See? ‘Get me something from the manor’. You got me something from the manor! My fault, really, I should have specified!” He shrugged the idea off as he tossed the paper that disappeared in a cloud of smoke, very casually leaning his back against the wall as he reached for his book once more.

“...You could have…” She very slowly let the words slip from her mouth, as if there were a consequence to finishing the sentence. “You could have just sent me back.” He snorted at this.

“I’m a lawyer, not a cheat.”

“...Wait, that’s—”

“And besides, I couldn’t care less what you did in there!” He said before pressing a finger to his forehead. “Frankly, I just thought it was an interesting way to get you killed.”

“Oh, because of the witch?” There was a pause between the both of them, Snatcher looking upward from his book in confusion. It clicked so suddenly that he hadn’t realized that he started laughing. For the first time, the child jumped at his sudden outburst, pulling down the sides of her top hat in an irritated confusion. He hadn’t heard that phrase in so long. ‘The witch’. He recalls a time where it repulsed him—it filled him with such an unjustified anger. He was glad to finally laugh.

“Yeah—Yeah, because of the witch!” He finally nodded, giving a couple of scattered chuckles. “Sure.”

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, nothing,” He said, wiping a tear from his eye, his voice brim with tired amusement. “Inside joke. Anyway, are you taking a contract or what?” Hat Kid stood from her place in the pillows, though steadied herself on the diving board as her foot began to sink further into the cushioned mass.

“If I get you something from that attic, will you answer my question?” He rolled his eyes, flipping to the next page of the hardcover.

“Kid, I…” He said. And then he thought for a moment. The woman, from his experience, was very good at killing. Hell, if the witch managed to kill the kid, he might actually owe her a favor. He looked at Hat Kid once more, her guilting eyes full of hope and interest. “Ah fine. With a look like that? Of course I’ll let you die that way!” Appearing in his hands was a parchment full of information yet void of a signature. Excitedly, Hat Kid clapped and reached for the quill he had yet to summon.

“So I do this and I get information?”

“A very hard maybe!” She gave a happy and endearing giggle at this, leaning closer to grab the feather pen he handed to her.

“That’s the most I’ve gotten from you!” She chirped. With her abnormally neat handwriting, she placed her signature on the document. Snatcher made sure to send the sheet away as she finished, her pen just about to scribble small little doodles on the edges of the paper.

“Alright! Sounds good to me!” He said with just as much excitement. Just as quickly, he slouched in a sort of relief as he finally went back to reading his book for good. “Now shoo! Go die. Have fun!” She hopped out of the pile of pillows that she quite often sank into and ran out of the room, fumbling through her pocket of badges to affix to her dinky blue umbrella. As the door shut behind her, he was alone once again.

He much preferred the atmosphere of his forest. Dim, only full of whispers and fear. Subcon was a place he created for himself. To learn to treasure the thought of being alone. Because when the world has been nothing but cruel, some space to yourself is nice. Predictably, something about the quietness of space itself allured him. It was empty and big. Large expanses of nothing stretched beyond the horizon, only coincidentally coinciding with life presumably hundreds of lightyears away. He always was an introvert, no matter how many deaths he happened to be the cause of.

The bedroom kind of ruined the mood. He wouldn’t deny, the ship was not unimpressive, holding rooms seemingly designed by an astronaut, an architect, and a little girl. He wouldn’t be surprised if the kid was all three. The colors that meshed together reminded him all too much of a technologically advanced kindergarten classroom. He gave a sigh. Maybe he could take it once she dies. If she dies. He’s unsure if she can even die, given how much she had gone through. He closed his eyes for only a moment before exhaustedly flipping another page. 

If Vanessa did kill her, he supposed he’d have the forest to look forward to being alone in again.

* * *

It was the path leading to the manor that she considered the worst part.

The air would grow cold with snow and dread, frostbite crawling up her spine despite the warm clothing that attempted to shield her. Fog would settle in her step; it so often clouded her vision with a stark gray with darkened silhouettes she far too often mistook for moving figures. And once she would catch the mansion in plain sight, its looming shadow displaying only bright orange lights from its windows, her shoulders grew stiff with a weight she didn’t recognize. 

At home, her reputation revolved around the amount of control she held over a situation. From a very young age, she was taught the necessities. Calculating aerodynamics in launch vehicular engineering and applying that to payload and spaceship design, the relative paradox theory and its relation to changes in timeline disintegration, separating whites and darks—she prided herself on her self sufficiency and determination. Losing that sense of control while trying to level herself on an unfair playing field was simply new to her.

A batch of paces close to the manor, she understood that the side mission she forced herself upon had no relation to her assigned job. In the rare event of his mental collapse, Hat Kid was to collect the time pieces that were scattered about her sector—yet there were no time pieces to be found in the almost haunted house. She, really, had no reason to return to the area and was surprised to find herself relieved when retreating for the first time. But her curiosity always outstripped her senses, and Snatcher was someone who interested her. 

She would admit that most did on this strange version of Earth, their stories explaining their actions and motives. For this, she was able to understand a person fairly well—her sense of intuition never having wronged her before. Yet Snatcher had been a paradox to her. His actions conflicted his motives, his threats never empty but never completely followed through. She couldn’t read the internal dialogue that he must have experienced, perhaps because she didn’t know his story. 

Being curious was something she’d most likely die for; she very much understood the idea and the sayings that coincided with it. But she had been taught to put too many other things above her own life, and she didn’t mind this mystery being placed just above it as well. 

The front doors were locked. She hadn’t an ounce of hesitation as she pushed past the front of the house, cradling herself with folded arms against the constant shower of snow that flaked around her. Behind the house, predictably, was the opening to the basement. The cellar doors sit closed. It took Hat Kid a moment to notice the rusted chains that clumsily wrapped the handles on the door. A large iron lock hung from its bindings. Pulling at them did nothing but burn at her fingers, the lock half frozen and chains rattling in her persistence. She dropped the chain and backed away, adjusting her hat in a faux determination.

Idea.

She pulled a vial from her pocket, ignoring the flame hazard possible by keeping explosive substances on her person, and began to shake. Rather than throwing it on the lock, she poured the substance onto the frail chains. The idea came from paranoia. She remembers how it felt to hide, her fingers clutching the fabric of each disheveled rug while feeling the witch’s presence quickly lowering the room’s temperature. More than anything, she didn’t want the monster to hear her. She grabbed the umbrella by the canopy and hooked the handle under the weakened chains. With just a few tugs, the brittle metal snapped and sent the remaining links tumbling toward the snow covered ground.

Though the handles were freezing, she stopped just short from opening it. She didn’t actually have to do this. Contractual obligations as it may, she knew that Snatcher didn’t actually care about whether she went through with it or not. When she was particularly frustrated fulfilling one of his newer contracts and had decided to return to her ship, he was disappointed and bitter, but that’s all he ever managed to be. If she returned, he’d give a snarky comment and leave her be. And yet ideas buzzed in her mind about why that was. The reasoning behind the things he did. And so she pulled open the door and walked inside.

Walking inside of the cellar was disgusting. A gross yellow liquid she only assumed was alcohol had filled the room to about an inch, filtering inside the cuffs of her pants. She had never bothered to take a scenic route of the mansion, finding her life of a higher priority than an analysis of the woman’s interior decorating. Hat Kid had no reason to think that she suddenly had the time to take it into consideration, though she caught herself wading toward a line of chains on the wall. Shackles broken by the ends hung loosely on the wall with smaller, less rusted links dangling from the top of the wall. She felt herself nudge a bit of the metal that had presumably been broken from the collection of them in the puddle of beer. 

Slowly, she let a finger slide down the wall, tracing the line of irons that branched in a way that filled her with an intense curiosity. What had been so dangerous to keep pressed so harshly against the cold walls of the basement? More so, how did it escape? Where did it go? She had no clue if the adrenaline that filled her chest stemmed from the mystery she had missed or the impending dread that she knew she’d encounter walking through the nearest door. Nonetheless, the feeling would quickly subside as she pushed her feet through more of the watery alcohol and unthinkingly entered the hallway. 

Twinges of panic spiked at her chest as she remembered the way she felt at the witch’s booming voice that shook the floor, alerted and angry at Hat Kid’s presence. Though looking around, she saw no figure that slowly stalked about its house. As she walked into the room across from the basement, she realized that it felt empty. It was cold and the lights were dimmed. Each room seemed void of anything that she hadn’t expected, frozen corpses lining the sides of the room like a sick display of taxidermy and doors just ajar enough for her to see nothing but a simple room coated with thick layers of dust. 

Really, the simple fact that she had no idea where the witch irked her more than the feeling of being chased. When she had first entered the manor, the monster had the decency to let Hat Kid know that she was discovered, gentle teasings and threats disguised as offers echoing in her mind. But she was surrounded with a still silence.

The upstairs was just the same, a patterned stillness in the cold air that Hat Kid especially hated. Creeping past the bed, she looked at the large vanity that held her reflection. She was surprised to see how tired she was, small lines under her eyes that were made more visible in the room’s candlelight. She had no idea where the line of gray really came from—she was admired at home for her youthful appearance and demeanor and not the exhaustion that seemed to come with age. She stared at the image of herself that looked back with an unexpected disappointment before averting her eyes away, almost ashamed of what she had seen from herself. And her eyes landed on a book.

It sat on a bedside table between the vanity, its bindings worn and torn. Very slowly, she walked toward the book, its title faded with age on the blue cover. Lines of torn pages filled more than half of the book, the binding feeling unbalanced and flimsy in her hands. Opening it was no better, some words faded from time or scratchy and illegible. Once she managed to find legible pages, she was disappointed to find that it was a diary. A jealous girl obsessing over some boy.

Hat Kid never found herself to care for romance. She found that most girls around her age enjoyed thinking of idols they’d find in a magazine or newsletter, but she had been taught to do the same for her job rather than simple idealistic things like hobbies that could distract her. She felt no need to look into melodrama as her curiosities tended to shift toward the violent and supernatural rather than romantic angst. 

She gently placed the book down and looked around the room. A page sat ruined with stains that she couldn’t recognize. And she had no idea why it took so long for her to discover that the area she roamed so frequently was a kingdom. The page detailed the coronation of a princess—something she actually had never seen before—and the woman’s misgivings. She had looked out the window at the empty houses that surrounded the manor, frozen over and abandoned. Her eyebrows creased as she continued to read. Her eyes drifted toward a letter that held different handwriting.

If she had been reading the princess’ handwriting, delicate and deliberate, then she must have picked up the letter belonging to the prince. It was cursive so formal that she found it hard to read, and the contents of the letter gave exposition to education in law. Just before she discovered the tutor’s name, the paper had been torn. She gave a small breath through her nose. Placing the contents down, she finally resolved to leave the room and enter the nursery.

A nursery. She hadn’t noticed the peculiarity of the concept amidst her panic during her first excursion. But she hadn’t encountered a child. There was no doubt that if there truly was one, they had died a very long time ago. The room she stood in was the emptiest, full of untouched toys and a lone crib with bed sheets coated with dust. A page sat on a table nearby, another bit of information she had missed during her first visit. As she read, her mouth began to crease as a slow feeling of discomfort settled throughout her body. It was the shortest out of each she had read, with only a few questions. She wanted to keep her prince forever. Lock him in chains and keep him in a cellar. But you couldn’t chain a man.

“Can you?” It read.

She paused, staring at the last line of the page for more than a moment. Her thoughts drifted toward the empty chains in the cellar, so many that were lined which made her believe that it was a monster that needed keeping from escaping. She very quickly put the paper down and walked out of the room. She would be asking Snatcher the questions she needed answers to. This woman wasn’t what she wanted to know about. She left the room and briskly walked down the hallway.

She stopped just in front of a portrait. It was professionally drawn, she was able to tell, displaying a family of two. A man and a woman. Hat Kid was surprised to see what must have been the witch. She was a beautiful woman, looking typical of a princess with a wonderful green dress and flowing blonde hair. The man was someone she didn’t recognize. His hair was brown and finely combed with eyes that twinkled with an expression that conveyed pure happiness. He seemed genuine, a face that was unfamiliar in Subcon. She wasn’t sure what would kill a man first—starvation or hypothermia. 

She moved toward the staircase, the steps creaking under her deliberate movement. She froze at the sound of that same creak coming from elsewhere. It seemed to be in the room above, each step slow and heavy. Hat Kid felt every notion to slowly back away, to leave the manor with what she had. But as the footsteps moved away from the front of the door and toward the back of the attic, she surprised herself by taking another few steps upward. Very slowly, she pushed the door open.

The woman, now reduced to a shadow, stood just in front of the window. Her already dark body was silhouetted against the moonlight that shone through the glass, shadows of snowflakes speckling the floor. To see the portrait of the beautiful woman, happy and comfortable, and seeing its counterpart, silently and forever indignant made her feel a great deal of sympathy. In her hands was something long and leather-like also darkened by the moonlight it was carried in front of, but Hat Kid was unable to comprehend the object to its entirety. And the queen stood, unmoving. It had been minutes without a single inch of motion, the stillness much more eerie than she might have realized.

After more than a minute, Hat Kid resigned to slowly shutting the door. She would come back soon, of course, when the monster had felt it right to move from her hypnotized state. With learning the story of the woman, almost pitiful and defeated, Hat Kid hadn’t realized how quickly her panic had subsided. Calmly, she moved back down the stairs, making sure not to disturb the woman who peacefully mourned for the man she killed.

She heard a very loud door slam shut from the third floor. And that subtle sympathy she thought she felt was quickly replaced with genuine fear. Her breath hitched as she heard the slow steps creaking downward, growing louder with each pace and almost threatening. She had forgotten to move, watching the staircase with innate intensity. The moment Hat Kid caught sight of the darkened shadow that loomed down the stairs, she ran.

“Is someone there?” A voice thundered, confused and angry. She moved through the hallway and down the staircase, desperately making sure her footsteps hadn’t echoed the same way the creature’s did. Hat Kid had no way of knowing whether or not she had been seen, but she prayed to anything that she hadn’t. As she reached the first room downstairs, she heard the monster’s footsteps quickly pushing down the staircase. Unthinkingly, she pushed into the kitchen. It was dark and untouched, seemingly void of activity.

The first thing she thought to do was hide under the piano. It was the biggest piece of furniture in the room, the biggest thing to cast a shadow. Less than a second later the princess—the queen—entered the room. Very slowly, she lurked around. Hat Kid felt her breath begin to uneven as the room darkened with each passing step the monster made toward her. She almost felt as if she had been seen, the monster creeping toward her in an act of malicious teasing.

The monster paused just in front of the keys of the piano. Hat Kid, for the first time in a while, felt tears dot the corner of her eyes. She pressed her palms against her lips in a pathetic attempt of keeping quiet, stifling every attempt her nose subconsciously made at sniffling. She had almost thought her heartbeat had given her away, each thump being heard like a disgusting rhythm in her head.

The piano, she had discovered, was detuned. Very slowly, Hat Kid lowered her hands from her face in a delayed sense of bewilderment. The piece was very slow at first, the woman using a delicacy Hat Kid had never expected. The poor tuning of the piano made the piece feel more demented than the clear intention, yet something about it made her understand how beautiful it was to sound.

The song was in three, though it wasn’t anything she had recognized. As the Queen continued to play, the piece grew slightly faster with a sense of familiarity and recollection. The most notable thing about the piece, she noticed, was the lack of melody. Each hand had been used to the fullest, the lower octave moving in a grandiose chord progression. But it had been missing a key part to making it whole. Truly, Hat Kid understood that it sounded lovely despite the detached notes and detuned piano.

Her thoughts were interrupted at the loud cluster of notes that rang from the keys. Hat Kid nearly squeaked as she backed further under the piano, pulling the brims of her hat down as if to hide inside of it. The monster’s breath was shallow and hard, her shoulders squared and palms upon the slightly broken keys in what she could only assume was anger. There was a full minute that they both sat in an uncomfortable silence. 

And then she left.

Hat Kid paused for a couple of moments, the rug’s carpeting indenting her palms. Her exit wasn’t as grandiose as her entrance, the monster pushing the door open and slamming it shut behind her. She used to pride herself on her confidence along with her sense of control. Her stubbornness and resilience. But she was afraid. More than that, she was tired. And yet, she still left the underside of the piano and moved toward the door. Taking a small glance from outside of the room, the witch had slowly made her way into the cellar, some of the gross substance pouring onto the staircase.

Hat Kid had no way of leaving through the disgusting basement, though part of her was thankful for that. So she would leave the same way she did before.

She had left the first time in a hurried panic, grabbing the time piece from the attic and beaming herself into the safety of her ship. She felt that same sense of helplessness as she travelled through the entirety of the mansion, moving up each staircase with a frantic sense of dread. 

She breathed a very quick sigh of relief once she made it to the attic, crates of nonsense piled together against the walls of the room. She had opened the window and pushed back her sleeve to reveal her watch. It was simple in design, as it was supposed to be. Yet around six hands spun about the clock face in different directions at varying speeds. She was just about to push the button that sat on the side of the clock, her foot rashly on top of the windowsill, but she paused.

Her eyes drifted toward the dark leather that the monster had held in this room previously, unthinkingly as still as the woman had been as she stared. Hesitantly, she looked at the door to the attic. There were no signs of movement at the edge of the room, the shadows meshing with the bits of light that poured in like a persistent dance. She stepped down from the window and moved slowly toward the item.

It had been a case, ragged and almost crumbling, though to what Hat Kid wasn’t sure. She dragged a finger around the edges of the case and was surprised to find it void of any dust or grime that the rest of the manor had been treated with. She found a small zipper at its tip, clean and metallic. Cautiously, she unzipped the casing. It made a very low whir as she did.

Though old, she found a guitar. It held four strings rather than the typical six, though looked far too exquisite to be a ukulele. She plucked a string. It made a fairly high pitched ring. She almost thought to giggle, the sound absurd for the kind of instrument she was looking at. On the lid of the case, she noticed a stick that held a large collection of string on each tip. She plucked the string. It hadn’t made a noise, which she only found slightly disappointing. 

She wouldn’t be returning. So it might not have been a danger to take it. Warily, she closed the case and carried it. It was surprisingly clunky under her arm, the end thumping against the floorboard slightly with the unbalanced weight. She gave a slight sigh.

She hoped it was worth it.

* * *

Hat Kid bounded into her room, the doors whirring open automatically. The room, predictably, hadn’t changed, with the same array of toys strewn about the floor and pillows across the way from their large pile. The look of disappointment that Snatcher delivered gave her a surge of pride. It always had. It was a very casual glance and one she was very much used to. She often entered the room with her clothing singed or torn—perhaps a stray feather or two on the brim of her hat or a bit of mud and grime. But always alive. 

“Oh. Hey.” He said, returning to his novel. It had a different cover than the first, a light blue rather than a dark purple. It took her a moment to realize that the book was from her personal library. 

“Hello!” She responded nonetheless, her voice full of enthusiasm.

“Did you get yourself another time piece?” He asked indifferently. He hadn’t averted his eyes from the book, almost paying Hat Kid no mind. Had he forgotten their deal? It didn’t matter. She much preferred to share the alien treasure she found to her guest’s enthusiasm. 

“C’mere!” She said excitedly. He gave her a frustrated glance, his smile creasing with an indignant hesitation. Putting the case down and crouching just in front of it, she warmly and fervently gestured him closer with a hand. The book slammed shut with nearly the same ferocity that the queen elicited on the doors of her manor. She refused to admit that the sudden noise made her jump. It didn’t.

“Alright, kid, whatever you got better be interesting,” He moved closer, eyeing the case of leather, unrecognizable with age and use. 

“Okay, okay! Look!” The cover looked much better in the light, its black leather shining with just a slight tint of brown. She zipped the case open, the sound zipper much louder and high-pitched than her first opening of it in the manor. Pulling the lid open, she grabbed the thing with a haphazard eagerness. “Ta-da! It’s a little guitar!” She held the instrument up proudly, the light wood glistening under the bright lighting of her room. The Snatcher paused with an unfamiliar expression. Hat Kid hadn’t noticed as she handed the instrument to him. He took it unthinkingly, staring at it for more than a moment. 

She bent down once more, reaching for the wooden pole with the yellowed strings. It took her more than a moment to free the item from its hinges. “And look—it comes with a… stick.” She paused as she held the bow in her hands, slowly lowering the wood in a confused hesitation. 

Snatcher looked onto the instrument with intense nostalgia, his mouth finally downturned into a frown. His eyebrows furrowed as he stared. She hadn’t noticed how often the instrument seemed to cause a sudden stillness in someone until she saw him simply stare. His hands—five fingers on each—clutched the instrument with a delicate care she had never seen in him before. He cradled the instrument against his chest—his torso slim and humanoid—almost as if it were a baby; fragile and asleep. He scrunched his nose—one he hadn’t previously—with an emotion Hat Kid couldn’t understand. 

He looked human. A murky purple in place of skin, in place of clothing, yet his eyes shone a bright yellow as it had done before. More than human, he looked sad. There was a long moment of silence that they sat in, his eyes scanning the instrument almost fondly. 

“It’s a violin,” He said after a while. She wasn’t sure if he had noticed the pause, or even his subtle transformation.

“...What?” She asked. “What’s a ‘vy-olin’?”

“It’s—It’s an instrument—Are you a human?” He stammered incredulously. She tried her best not to mention his form, or its familiarity.

“Technically.”

“Technically—are you sure?” His voice was mixed with a disbelieving and amused tone. He morphed as he moved toward the child, his legs beginning to intertwine with every passing step. What Hat Kid considered human-like hair shifted downward, growing with intensity. What was clothing seemed to fade, to mix into his ghostly skin. 

Soon she was looking at Snatcher. The ghost. 

“I’m—I’m sure,” She said automatically, a proper response or clever retort blank in her mind. There was a pause. “So. Information.”

“Changed my mind.”

“Oh.” She said. She had absentmindedly thought to be angry at the response, Snatcher was trying to get a rise out of her on purpose. She understood why he did this, of course. Power dynamics and all. Yet all she could manage was a one worded response. 

“Yep.” He said. She couldn’t stop herself from noticing the way he held the violin, the way he carried the thing so gently to his favorite spot on the ship. He placed it in his lap and reopened the novel. “Just didn’t feel like it. Y’know how it is!” He chuckled.

“Okay.” She said.

“...Huh?”

“It’s fine. I don’t mind,” She reiterated. There was a look of genuine confusion that crossed the Snatcher’s face as she stood there, her eyes blankly watching the violin.

“...I thought you’d be more angry.” He confessed. “Y’know. No info?”

“No it’s fine,” She shook her head, forcing herself to tear her eyes from the instrument. She looked toward the large bed that practically beckoned her, barely touched with cotton sheets and airy pillows. “I’m just… I’m tired. So I might sleep, I think.” She said simply, ignoring the image of her exhausted form in the mirror that played in her mind.

“Oh… Okay.” He said after a brief pause. Moving toward the case. With an accustomed swiftness, he placed both the violin and the bow back into the leather cover. The gesture was so simple, almost routine. As if he had done it thousands of times before. Hat Kid simply stood there as he turned his head, waiting for her sign of movement. “So… You gonna let me leave?”

“Well,” She yawned. “You didn’t give any information, so…”

“I’m going to drop all of your food out of the airlock.” 

* * *

She had a very hard time falling back asleep that night. She wasn’t mad of course, though an empty feeling settled within her through the course of the night. 

The instrument played. It was very quiet, very faint, but it played a tune so familiar. It must have been across the ship, as far from the bedroom as possible. The playing was not of professional quality. Regrettably, it was far from it as the sounds were scratchy and slow. Out of tune. It had almost sounded as if a beginner had decided to pick up the instrument for the first time.

She wanted to be frustrated at Snatcher’s comments, his immediate refusal of her request. But really, he gave her much more information than she had actually hoped for. The image of the kind prince bounced in her mind, with his chestnut-colored hair and kindly big smile. The image of that same prince, a form darkened to purple shadow and sad with a sense of lost nostalgia, replaced the first.

She spent the rest of the night trying to match the melody with the queen’s detuned piano playing.


	2. Flowers

“And then!” He continued in the town square, waving a free hand dramatically. On the village fountain he held a book, a bright shade of baby blue on its cover. The title read ‘Once Upon a Time’ in a childishly elegant font with bolded letters, the inside holding a collection of tales and fables from his own youth. Children sat on the white stone tiling, their eyes wide with interest. They leaned closer, grabbing every word that he released into the air. Some were on the verge of recoiling as he continued. Nonetheless, they were enraptured. “As soon as the question left his lips, she leaned down and kissed the frog—”

“Ew!” The children said collectively, some giggling at the story’s absurdity. He couldn’t help but belt a very loud laugh.

“You didn’t let me finish!” He said, his voice tinted with amusement. In reading his story, he nearly missed the small group of adults that stood only a few feet behind the children. They happily chatted about matters that he couldn’t completely hear, trusting of his watch over their children. It was flattering, the amount of trust each of his people had given him. The sun had almost finished pushing down the horizon, the bright blue sky melting into messy hues of orange and gray. “Yes, the girl kissed the frog, and he turned into a handsome young prince right before her very eyes!” Children still giggled, displaying their immature revulsion at the very idea of a kiss. 

“Why would she do something like that?” One asked, his hand raised in a skeptic speculation.

“Because it's true love!” He answered. The boy gave an unsatisfied huff, and a wave of nostalgia flooded him. When reading from the very book he held, his own parents used to lament at the amount of questions he had. His inquiries about how ‘unrealistic’ each story may have been, what with love at first sight and societal expectations. ‘It would be more befitting to read him a textbook to bed,’ his father would say. 

“I would never kiss a frog, no matter who it was!” Said one of the girls, crossing her arms indignantly.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” A gentle hand patted the top of the girl’s head, contentedly watching the scene from the same audience as the children. From behind the girl, Vanessa gave him a cheery glance. He almost thought to say something or simply return the expression, but could only give her an infatuated stare. The evening sun bounced off of her golden hair wonderfully, the slight blush that tinted her cheeks only making her smile grow. 

“Are you going to continue the story?” Asked one of the girls from the back.

“Ack!” He nearly tossed the book at the noise, his face flushed with a deep red hue. “Yes—Yes of course!” Vanessa let herself give a small laugh, polite yet amused. She lightly walked toward him, flattening the back of her dress before she sat on the fountain beside himself. Delicately, she grabbed one end of the light blue cover, her white gloves caressing the sides of the page. 

“Why—” Vanessa started, her voice raising a pitch. “What on earth happened! I thought you were but a frog?”

“W—Well,” He stammered in surprise, his ears twinged with a light pink. “A witch had cursed me, you see! Only a kiss could save me from that state!” He continued, flipping to the final page of the story. 

“You poor thing!” Vanessa broke character slightly by laughing through her words. He could only think to smile fondly. “I’m so sorry it took you this long to find me.” Vanessa looked happy. Truly, he could tell, she was happy. There was a bit of pride he felt at seeing her smile, knowing that he had something to do with it.

“And find you I did! I… love you. And I promise to stay by your side for as long as I live.” His smile grew more genuine as he read the line, as he saw Vanessa looking at him with the same expression out of the corner of his eye. “The Prince and Princess resolved to live together—sharing their lives until the end of their days.” He finally looked at Vanessa as he closed the book. “And they lived happily ever after.” There was a short pause as they stared, true and real happiness in their gaze.

“Ew!” Spouted one of the kids, pointing a finger at the two. “I think they’re gonna kiss!” The children made comments at once, staring either excitedly or disgustedly at their rulers. At this he laughed once again. He hadn’t noticed the way Vanessa had flinched at the sudden harsh noise, his laughter loud and sincere. The children’s parents had finally coerced their children into leaving, the sun almost completely dimmed from the sky. Some grabbed their hands and walked to the township, some grabbing their child by the waist and holding them against their chests. He waved at the few who managed to spare them both a glance.

“Thank you for picking me up today, Vanessa.” He said after the town square had cleared of people. “I hadn’t expected it to take so long! They kept insisting I finish the story!” 

“It’s alright,” She brushed dust off of herself as she stood, the water from the fountain somehow avoiding her dress entirely. “I was just worried that you had… gotten lost on the way.” He chuckled sincerely at this.

“That’s quite silly!” He said. “I know this place like the back of my hand, Vanessa, you don’t need to worry about things like that. I do appreciate it, of course!” He grabbed her hand gently, preparing to take the same scenic route they’d make to their home. The home they shared. The amount of giddy he felt that day, knowing just how in love he was made him feel like a child, but it truly was the happiest he had been.

“Um…” A smaller voice stuttered below. Turning his head, he saw one of his audience members, a boy. He was small with messy hair, a darker brown in color. 

“Oh hello there!” Letting go of Vanessa’s hand, he kneeled to meet the boy at eye-level. Almost as if on instinct, the boy averted his gaze, instead looking toward the stone bricks that had begun to collect small green weeds that sprouted between the floor’s tiny cracks.

“Um… Can you…” The boy looked behind him nervously. Only a few feet away was an older woman, her hair that same darkened color with bits of gray that lined its edges. She gave him a reassuring smile. “I was—I was wondering if you could help me paint… flower designs… on my mask. For the Flower Festival...” The child got quieter as he spoke, fidgeting with his oversized clothing.

“Oh—Of course I will!” He answered almost immediately. It was not as if he wanted to say no, but he had a very innate habit of replying to requests with the affirmative. “We can do it tomorrow at noon!” 

“Luka.” Vanessa said quickly. Her voice was quiet but clear. “We, ah, normally practice at noon. Remember?” 

“Oh no, you’re right!” He said in a sudden realization. With the very recent gift from his beloved, the violin that's worth exceeded his own, he had resolved to playing with her as a show of gratitude. He enjoyed the time they spent together on their respective instruments. What was practice became a hobby, a happy routine in both of their lives. He turned to see the boy hiding in his shirt, inching away from him in embarrassment. He placed a contemplative hand on his chin. “Vanessa, dear, do you think that perhaps we could move that back by a few hours? Just for that day?” She gave a very long pause.

“Of course.” She said. Her smile was strained, though Luke was too elated to actually notice. He clasped his palms together happily, the matter settled.

“How does that sound?” The boy stopped, surprised at the answer, before feverishly nodding. “What is your name?”

“I’m… I’m Fable, sir.”

“That’s a fun coincidence! It’s very nice to meet you, Fable.” He said. He smiled. “And there's no need to call me sir. Luka is fine.”

Though, it really wasn’t fine, was it?

It was neglect. He had promised to love her. He must not have realized how lonely she had been. As a prince, it was his job to devote his time to his citizens—to make sure they were safe and happy. Understandably so, he felt it best to give his time to the child that day. But was it not also his job, as her fiancé, to provide her with the same necessities? He had been selfish, placing his political and social life before his own love? That was the reason she was so upset.

He must have deserved this, then. Another drop of water poked at his skin, tauntingly crawling down his chin and racing toward his neck. Part of him at least wished for some sort of way to know how much time had passed since the beginning of his punishment. The various candles had melted away, each one’s wax mixing with the puddles of water and beer that had littered the basement floor. There was little light in the cold and dark room, save for the flicker of lights that pushed out from behind the cellar doors. 

Some part of him was thankful for that—he had been tired of seeing his reflection in the pool of liquid, exhausted and sad. Tear stains had marked his cheeks, though he hadn’t recalled ever crying in the first place, with dark circles lingering just below his eyes. Only for a single moment, seconds before the last of the candle wax had dripped to its puddle on the floor, Luke had believed that the exhausted and apprehensive look he had given himself had always been there.

* * *

“Alright, I’m off!” Hat Kid said, twirling the hook of her umbrella with a finger. She stood just in front of the exit, the doors automatically whirring to life at her presence. “You want me to let you out?”

“I’m not a dog, kid.” He said very casually. In his hands he still held the sky-blue book from the day before, flipping through the book disinterestedly. He had already been halfway through the novel, his eyes darting from one side of the page to the other with an apathetic haste. Or perhaps he was a good reader? Her library was expansive, but fairly hard to find throughout the breadth of her ship. It was a surprise to see Snatcher with one of her own. She didn’t recognize the book from first glance, but she at the very least understood that it was from her own collection. Snatcher seemed intent on hiding the cover. “I’ll be fine.” 

“Okay!” She stepped into the purple hallway. “Guard the place for me, boy!” Just before the doors slid to a close, Hat Kid saw the offended glance the Snatcher gave. He hadn’t bothered to move from his spot, though he opened his mouth to speak just before Hat Kid left the room. The Snatcher was comfortable in her home, she could tell. The idea of being haunted by a spirit who felt at ease in her own ship might have been complimentary, had it not been for his insistence at her death.

Thoughts drifted to yesterday, his purple form morphed to the figure of a human. A prince. She wasn’t quite able to fit all the pieces together. Parts if a puzzle were scattered about the entirety of the world that spun under her, making the situation make sense. She was missing a few. She clicked the side of her wristwatch, the small piece of rounded metal indenting her thumb. With a small tick, she found herself in front of Snatcher’s old home.

She had no reason to believe why it wasn’t still his home—he returned quite frequently to the slowly decaying forest. The place was small, a large chair on one end with scattered untouched furniture in the other. His grandfather clock hadn’t ticked, a fine coat of dust sitting on its polished wood, and his wardrobe was predictably void of clothes. The surrounding forest was quiet. It was no different than the usual eerie silence that the area supplied, though she learned to understand the comfort that the idea brought. She wouldn’t live there herself of course—she believed there was a reason why the Snatcher stayed on her ship often. Other than motive for murder. 

As she walked down the path, the very few minions she met on the same road backed away. They each moved further into the forest or just barely managed to scramble into town. They were unnerving at first glance. Their scratchy voices pushing at the idea of death and emphasizing the inevitability of her own, the bright yellow light that hid what was on the inside of their hoods, all of it prodding at her anxieties. She found them to be cute after a bit of time, as she did with most things she began to understand. Once they ran out of lines to repeat, they acted quite childish. Some of the Snatcher’s traits were evident in their own, futilely trying to scare Hat Kid, like a cat mirroring their owner. She watched as one panicked, hopping the fence that lined the sides of the dirt path and pacing into the underbrush. Her reputation may have preceded her. The Snatcher’s loss was witnessed firsthand by all of his cohorts. They must have found her terrifying, what with their imprinting on their boss. Most managed to scamper before she could get a proper word in; none of them understood that she wanted conversation rather than violence. 

One failed to escape in time. As she walked, their ragged purple drapery became caught between the jagged fence, clumsily making them fall onto the ground. 

“You. Wait a sec,” She pointed, walking closer. On instinct, they shrank.

“Okay—Okay, I have nothing to give you, I’ll admit it!” They put their hands upward in a defeated motion, as if to defend themselves. “But let me go! I won’t tell him that you’re here, promise!” Hat Kid felt guilty both at the fear she had accidentally placed upon the henchmen of her ‘enemy’ as well as the bit of pride that swelled because of it. She gave a frustrated huff as she continued closer.

“Calm down...!” She said. She put aside her umbrella, trying her best to make it clear that she was not a threat. “Do all of you guys really think I’m going to hurt you? Hold still.” She ignored the way they flinched as she reached forward, pulling at the bit of wood that snagged their clothing. She backed away then, watching as they almost seemed astonished at the lack of cruelty in the gesture. There was a small pause in between the two of them as they glared unmoving, as if any sudden movement they made would make her frenzy like a feral animal.

“I’m… not supposed to talk to you,” They said finally.

“Huh?” 

“I can’t talk to you,” They repeated, as if the statement was enough of an explanation. They glanced away, searching for a way to run. Or perhaps an excuse to leave. 

“Well why not?” She rested her arm on the decaying fence, giving a small pout at the childish statement. Some of the splintered wood cut at the bottom of her hand, though she ignored it well enough. “I’ve been plenty friendly.”

“You weren’t exactly friendly with our boss,” They answered. Hat Kid couldn’t help but giggle proudly.

“That’s true.” She said. The Subconite just stood there, fidgeting with the purple rags equivalent to clothes. It was reminiscent of the owls she’d try to talk to on the train, the conversations normally one sided and uncomfortable. It may have been worse—she saw the thing slowly inching away from her. “But! We’re friends now!” She raised her palms quickly, pointed toward them.

“...What?”

“We’re friends now,” She said once again, painting the phrase with a bit of confidence. “Best friends. He practically lives on my ship now.” She heard the hesitation in their silence, the sideways glance full of skepticism.

“He’s… your friend?” They asked.

“Yep!” She nodded, taking a step forward. For the first time, they hadn’t backed away at her movement, only looking at her with a mixed astonishment and confusion. She hadn’t been lying. At the very least, she hoped she hadn’t. In honesty, she enjoyed the little retorts they’d supply each other with. While Bow Kid had busied herself with the Conductor and DJ Grooves, she enjoyed his forced company in her place. “Listen. All I want to do is ask a few questions. That’s all! Honest!”

“What kind of questions?” She had to think for a moment.

“...History?” She said finally with a small shrug. “Out of every place on Earth, this is the one I know literally nothing about! Who better to ask than the locals?”

“And Snatcher says it’s okay to tell you?” They asked. The question hit her. She hadn’t realized that perhaps the information might have been taboo. Her thoughts drifted to the most recent contract she made, only one side of the deal truly being fulfilled at the expense of her life.

“Absolutely,” She lied. The Subconite gave a sigh. 

“Okay, then.” They said finally, a defeated tone plaguing their voice. She would have felt insulted if not for the vague sense of accomplishment she had through the successful conversation.

“Wanna walk with me?” She offered. There was a pause, and then a tiny little shrug. They moved with her, though at a small distance. She had decided to continue through the path that led into the town. It had meant to be yet another part of the forest that would scare visitors, though the area was actually quite charming in it’s own right. She enjoyed the spores that grew about the ground as well as the quirky houses that were made of hollowed bark.

“What’s your name?” She asked as they reached the bottom of the hill.

“That’s… your first question?” They asked incredulously.

“I didn’t know you were gonna count,”

“I’m not,” They said. The Subconite resolved to staring at the dirt that scattered at their footsteps. Hat Kid was embarrassed to realize how different each one of them had been. She for a long time thought them all to be fairly similar, their personalities being brash and unsuccessfully intimidating. This one especially had been shy. “I...I dunno. I haven’t been asked that in a very long time.”

“Well, consider me the first.” She shrugged, using her umbrella as a walking stick. “In a very long time.” She added.

“...Fable,”

“Aw, that’s a cute name!” 

“I—I think,” They said quickly. They seemed to want to retract the statement entirely, As they walked, almost embarrassed by the situation entirely. Hat Kid noticed a few of Snatcher’s minions that peered from behind tree stumps and graves. Fable waved at them assuringly. Because she had been Snatcher’s friend. “Why did you want to know?”

“Um… pleasantries?” She said. “If you want a real question, I do wanna know how all of you are here in the first place.”

“Oh,” They paused. There was a moment of stiff silence. They circled around the town edges of the town, taking a path that led further into the forest. Very slowly, the area had gotten darker with a deep purple hue, only bits of moonlight illuminating their way. “Are you sure?”

“I do, yes.” 

“Well, we all died. Cause of stuff. And now we’re here.” 

“Wonderful explanation, Fable, but I know you can do better,” She gave him a quick glance. She almost felt like a reporter, asking for information like this. Or a detective—solving the case of a murder. The idea hadn’t actually been far off. “Why did you…” She tried to emphasize the point, though stopped. They hadn’t looked at her, their gaze distant. It looked uncomfortably like the look Snatcher gave to the violin, half human and upset. 

They walked quietly for a moment, continuing through the dark underbrush. The path, she noticed, was fairly close to the manor she escaped from on occasion. Bits of stone were buried under the shaggy dirt, tiled and dark. Houses were scattered on either side of the both of them, with ice crawling up some of its walls. Other buildings had rotted with blackened wallpaper peeling off of the walls and wood in heaps on the ground.

“Why are these houses abandoned?” She asked as they walked through one, the unsteady floorboards creaking against her step. They finally looked around, surveying the upsetting scenery that surrounded them.

“Oh. Yeah,” They said absently. “It was too cold.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah. To keep living here,” They continued, tracing a finger against the rotting wall of the building before exiting through its empty siding. “As ghosts, I guess, we can’t really feel anything. But the ice is something everyone here can sorta feel. See—that used to be the bakery,” They pointed at a building that was unrecognizable under the heavy ice that encased it, “That area over there was the tailors, and the florists’ was that little block of ice there. I think the Thatchers lived there.” What looked to be a large house, empty and encased in a mound of ice. It looked like a nice home, two stories; a home big enough to fit a family.

“It… It was the witch, right?” She asked. “This is her fault?”

“Sure.”

“And Snatcher—He has something to do with this too,” She continued, struggling to fit each piece together at once. Fable gave an exhausted sigh.

“Kid, that’s a whole can of worms,” The subconite waved, leading them away from the abandoned village, full of ice and the past. The path led them toward the area Hat Kid was in originally, the Snatcher’s large treehouse extending above the skyline.

“Hey, no… Open that can,” Hat Kid said with a huff, grabbing their shoulder. “I need those worms. I’m fishing for information.” 

“Okay, okay,” They eased, her insistence providing more irritation than anxiety. Really, it was how most of her friendships formed, and she was quite proud to see Fable beginning to warm up to her in the same way the Snatcher did. “Sort of. I don’t know what happened exactly. Sorry.” Some of the Subconites, previously worried by her stay, had finally come out of hiding. They gazed at her with a show of curiosity. 

“That’s fine…” She said. She was able to connect a few dots with the string of information she had gotten and context clues. There was another pause. “So...How did you all happen, then. I don’t get it.”

“...He helped us,” They relented. “When we had nowhere else to go, he took us in. Gave us form.”

“He helped you? The Snatcher. Big bad guy.”

“Yeah,” They nodded. In the distance, his house loomed prominently, the light’s orange hue much more welcoming than that of Vanessa’s manor. “And he’s not so bad. Not to us.”

“And you’re happy here?”

“Yes,” They both continued up the path, but Fable paused just before they reached the top. “If there was anything I could bring back from my old life, it’d be the flowers.”

“The flowers?”

“There used to be flowers everywhere. There was a big batch of them right near the entrance to the manor.” They explained. They gave a slight look of nostalgia that Hat Kid couldn’t help but pity. She supposed she understood in a way—it’d been quite a long time since she saw her home last. But being homesick was much different than being dead. “I miss them. But I don’t think I have it bad. I’m alive because of my boss. Sort of.”

They only walked in silence for a moment, Hat Kid in a silent contemplation. Fable paid no mind to this. The thought must have entered their mind regularly, to see the same flowers that would grow about their home. The contentment with never seeing them again.

“Is he happier?” Fable asked, only slightly startling Hat Kid.

“What?”

“Mr… Our boss,” They repeated. “Is he happy?”

“...Um,” She searched her mind for a good way to answer the thought. Her mind first drifted to the violin, the gentle sadness that she saw in his face. Just then, she pictured his face when he laughed, the continued determination of her death by his hand. If he deserved to be happy wasn’t a question she had considered to ask. “I dunno. But I’m working on it.” She said. It wasn’t a question she cared to ask. She never cared for the morality of her acquaintances. 

They didn’t respond. She could tell that they were happy with the answer. Finally they both stood at the beginning of the path. She adjusted her hat slightly, with an air of finality and professionalism.

“Thank you,” She said, tipping the brim. 

“All I did was answer a few of your questions,” They shrugged.

“That’s—That’s why I’m thanking you,” She stammered. The Snatcher insisted that she was mannerless, and yet his own minions didn’t understand the concept. “This is going to help a lot! So I appreciate it!”

“Help with... what. Exactly.” The voice had not been from Fable, though there was an intense livity that plagued its tone. Fable shrank once again, looking upwards as they backed away from the shadow that loomed over Hat Kid. Right. Okay.

“Um,” She very awkwardly turned, avoiding the gaze the Snatcher gave her. It was no doubt filled with anger, despite the smile he never seemed to know how to drop. She clasped her hands together, mimicking the gesture he would make. “Funny thing—”

“You.” He pointed to Fable, who tried to leave the scene. They jumped and squeaked quietly, bouts of guilt filling her chest. He hadn’t raised his voice, his sentences coming out as a patient rumble. “What is this?”

“I—I thought,” They said very quietly as the Snatcher stared. “You—I’m—I’m sorry.”

“Hey!” She said, pointing her umbrella at the large mass that towered before her. “I threatened them to talk to me! Pick a fight with me—I can beat you again!” There was a silence that she instilled at the empty threat, the scene seemingly unmoving. The Snatcher, more than anything, looked puzzled. As if what she said was wildly out of character; as if the voice was of a stranger rather than her own.

“Shoo.” He said to Fable. And they ran. Quickly, startling Hat Kid, he lowered himself to meet her at face level. His eyes glowed that same bright yellow that nearly blinded her, its hue bouncing against her pale skin.

“Let me fill you in on a little secret, kid. And I say this not as an ally but as an enemy,” His voice dropped to a low grumble. She hadn’t faltered, her eyebrows creased and mouth downturned to a nervous frown. “If you delve into my business, there will be trouble. You won't find yourself here, and you most definitely won’t find yourself alive. Don’t come here again.” There was a small moment of silence as the Snatcher began to leave, moving down that same path she walked through.

“Wait!” She said despite everything. Her impulses would act before rational thought did. Furiously, the Snatcher turned.

“No—I won’t let you have the last word—” He started once again, his voice finally beginning to thunder.

“They said they wanted to see flowers.” There was a moment of silence.

“Who?” It sounded more like a command than a question, his voice monotonous but expectant.

“Fable.” She continued. “Your minion? They said if they wanted to see anything again, it would be the flowers that used to grow here.” Another pause.

“...That’s not my fault.” He said. “That’s not my concern. Just leave.” And Hat Kid was left alone. She, at his first defeat, had determined that he couldn’t make her do anything. But the statement hadn’t felt like a threat. It felt like a plea.

Fable didn’t know how to feel.

They stared for a very long while at the thing that budded near their boss’ house, gazing at it in a crouch. It sprouted very delicately. They were almost afraid to touch the stem that pushed itself from the ground. Its bud had just barely opened, revealing a gentle lavender on its inside. Surrounding it, smaller seedlings gracefully beneath the constant moon that showered Subcon with gentle light. It almost looked like a real garden.

They didn’t think it was possible for anything living to grow in Subcon anymore. They were encompassed with the dead far too often to take into consideration the good things that could live. They very lightly placed a finger under the bud, leaning forward with an intensity. They twitched at the way it moved against their soft push. Their eyes drifted to a bit of metal that poked from behind the house. They could just barely make out the sprout of a rusted watering can.

Thoughts of their old mask, a fox painted with care, plagued his mind. Thoughts of their old prince welled from the depths of their memory, ideas that they didn’t realize that they lost hitting them at once. 

Fable missed a lot more than they realized.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a lot shorter, but also like. I don't know how on Earth I managed to churn out 8000 words for the first chapter. Don't expect anything like that again, Jesus Christ.  
> Anyway, the first three chapters are definitely going to be slow. The third one is pretty fun though! The fourth chapter is where shit kicks off. "Shit" meaning the emphasis on Snatcher becoming a father figure. For now, they're both just meh.  
> I'm posting this at 4 in the AM, so we'll see if I need to fix any grammatical or spelling errors. For now, though, have a very safe Christmas! Happy Holidays!


	3. Breakfast

Mornings were slow.

He would have never described himself as a morning person. More often than not, his nights were spent at the quaint maple desk next to the bed; his pen had made a faint indent inside of his palm. It reminded him much of the nights he’d spend under the sheets as a child, a candle precariously singing the apex of his blanket tent. He would hold the candle close as a child under those sheets, as if they had been shielding him from the dangers of the reality that pressed against the covers. Reality, of course, would always come uninvited back into his life with his parents’ stern words in the morning, questions on why bits of his blanket had been charred, how easily flammable his bed had been.

His candle was close by his side at night as he scribbled at the well-used writing table, years worth of handwriting imprinting onto the aged wood. He could never notice the time that passed when he took notes from the worn textbook that sat at his left.

A lawyer should be competent, prompt, and diligent. A lawyer should maintain communication with a client concerning the representation. A lawyer should keep in confidence information relating to representation of a client except so far as disclosure is required or permitted by the Rules of Professional Conduct or other law. He wrote small impressions in the margins. As a lawyer, you must keep your head as well as your heart. Check with the client, prove to them that they may trust you. And keep loyal.

The nights in which he wrote in his journal, though it was usually most nights he spent writing in the book he considered his life’s work, Vanessa would spend alone in their bed for hours. It wasn’t until the moon would just begin to lower from its peak in the sky that he allowed himself to sleep. Those nights he spent absorbed in his work, in which he had spent very little time in bed, the sheets felt much cooler. 

Digressions aside, the majority of time during his mornings was spent waking up. Attempts to push down the grogginess that flowed throughout his body, scolding him for the hours he spent encouraging the carpal tunnel that may have plagued his wrists instead of giving his mind a break, had always been fruitless until noon. 

He sat, well—more so plopped—in the wooden chair that rested in the dining room. He yawned, inattentively taking the mug of hot coffee that had been placed in his hands. People would never be able to assume that he preferred his coffee black, though he had never been particular for sweet tastes. He gave the drink a sip, the liquid scalding against his tongue. He preferred the coffee burning hot.

He only now managed to glance at Vanessa who quietly placed his plate of food before him. Despite being so slow, breakfast had been his favorite part of the day. It was quiet, serene. He took another sip of his coffee and gave a mumble.

“What was that, dear?” She asked, only half amused.

“Thank you very much for the coffee,” He said into his drink. It took him more than a moment to open his eyes, squinting slightly at the subtle light that filtered into the room. Vanessa stirred her own coffee, staring vacantly into the liquid that shone a lighter brown than his own. She preferred the coffee iced, cool at best. She looked wonderful in the mornings, much more than himself who hadn’t the time to brush his hair or straighten his clothing, the morning rays bouncing light off of the top of her golden hair. Despite that, she held an unreadable expression as she absently twirled the teaspoon in her drink. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” She said simply, pushing her coffee aside and moving towards her plate. She cut her pancakes with one sharper than a butter knife, ignoring the way the syrup slowly melted into the cooked batter. He paused, his posture straightening in a worried confusion. He wanted to trust her, because of course, a relationship is nothing without faith. He rubbed at his eyes, subconsciously tracing the gray lines that circled under them. He had no real reason to stay up so late—his sluggishness would always have been his own fault. 

He truly did enjoy the solemnity of the night, the quiet that instilled in him a gentle ease. There would be nothing to consider except for the rules instilled in his mind by memory, placing the texts down on paper for enjoyment’s sake. Of course, he loved his time with Vanessa during the day. He wished for nothing more than to spend the rest of his life with her. But during the night, he allowed time for himself. 

He chewed on the bacon, crispy and warm to the touch. Breakfast had always been his favorite part of the day—only because he always had trouble eating weightier meats. It seemed as if breakfast foods were all that his slim body could handle ingesting at the time. He gave the faintest smile as he ate, drowsily letting himself enjoy the meal. He almost thought he saw his fiance give a scowl.

“You were up all night again,” She said simply, grabbing the handle of her coffee mug. There was a minute bitterness to her tone that he didn't recognize. Or perhaps he did. He swallowed immediately. 

“Er,” He gawked. There were no thoughts that came to his mind at that moment, almost surprised at the statement. It sounded more like an accusation, as if the thing he had been doing was unforgivable. “I did, yes.” He sounded like a child, guilty of mischief. He didn’t quite realize that he had caused trouble.

“You…” She paused, clenching her mug. Slight frost spread subtly from her fingertips, only brushing across the ceramic. Despite the gloves, he managed to hear the slight crackle that the ice made pressing against the glass. There was a moment of silence as he breathed, a still anxiousness in the air. He hadn’t been afraid of her. That couldn’t have been it—after what she had been through? To be scared of her was ignoring who she truly was. At least to him. There was an uncomfortable silence that lingered in the air. It was in just a moment in which he watched as the ice receded, crawling back into her palm. She gave a sigh. “You know how unhealthy that is for you. Staying up so late.” He almost thought to sigh as well, pangs of relief flooding through his chest, though some part of him stopped himself. Her gaze was gentle, caring as she studied him, waiting patiently for an answer. 

“It’s… It’s strangely cathartic for me,” He said quietly. “I’d like to study as much as I can. What with the education I’ll be committed to soon—”

“Yes, well,” She said firmly and suddenly. “You’re not… you haven’t left yet.” There was another stillness in the room, a silence that made him want to leave. He was unable to look at her in the eye.

“You’re…” He furrowed his eyebrows as he looked into his coffee, the black fluid dark enough to display his exhausted reflection. “You’re right. I’m sorry, I… I’ll try to go to bed earlier from now on.” He glanced to see Vanessa give a small smile. He tried to give one back, but the expression was ingenuine. She finally took a sip of her coffee. It must have been freezing.

He shivered. The cold chains obnoxiously rattled against the sullied walls of the cellar. He had resolved to stay still, trying his best to avoid the noise that had racked the room for hours. Or days. Still he could not tell, the candles having dissipated hours ago. His only resource to prove the passage of time being each drop of liquid that clicked into a puddle, driving him mad. The experience was something of a sensory nightmare. Water had more frequently been crawling down his back, each bit freezing and crackling against his body. Somehow, the temperature felt colder, though the candles that had snuffed may have had something to do with it. He hung there, alone in the dark.

Was it… because he had spent his nights alone? He recalls ending that intimate tradition with himself that day, going to bed earlier than he ever had in years. Even still, his insomnia had plagued his nights with heavy reality pressing against his chest. He would sit in bed, still and unmoving, his eyes closed and mind dangerously free. It was comparable to how he felt now. His thoughts wandering towards memories he thought he had forgotten. He was unable to fall asleep, no matter how many attempts he forced upon his eyelids, though he was almost certain he would never wake up if he had succeeded. It was cold.

He should regret the things he had done. Obviously he should, what kind of person would he be if he hadn’t respected his fiancé’s wishes? But he did quite miss the disconnect from materiality, existing only in his thoughts of what he loved to do. He missed the personal connection with himself, a shared understanding between his mind and his empathy with the career he’d spend hours fixated on. 

It was only now that his mind had drifted to places he didn’t wish to. He shivered once again. He felt terrible for thinking so. And he truly did want to apologize. But he felt that, for some reason, being alone in the cellar was much more of a comfort than it should have been.

* * *

“Are you—”

“I’m fine,” The Snatcher answered simply. She hadn’t even the time to ask her question. “Bother me when you want to die.” His voice was colorless, yet she could not find a hint of malice in his tone. It was worse, she thought, than the ferocity she had experienced from him two days prior. There was a moment of silence as Hat Kid stood in front of the door, patiently waiting for her exit. He hadn’t spared her a glance, browsing through the last pages of the azure novel that he skimmed. ‘Once Upon a Time’ had been printed on the cover. She recognized it as an artifact she had collected from Earth, though from where its origins lay she had previously been unsure. She left without another word, her cape bounding after her as the electronic door slid shut.

She had at first been furious. He had brought his negative attitude onto the ship, which she had of course not been for at all, and sulked in her room. He still insisted on his contracts, as if they mattered more than the tense atmosphere he created in his wake. She had been fixed on kicking him out during the ordeal, to call off their agreement and let him live alone like he had been so fixated on. Yet, every time she gained the smallest bit of courage to enter her own room, she fizzled at the stare he gave. Silent anger. She would sign another contract. And leave.

It had been that way for days, each hour grating at her ego as she had practically felt the Snatcher’s presence in her room, boorishly reading different kinds of literature just to avoid her gaze. Really, it had been nightmarish. And in that time, she was ashamed at the ambivalence that clouded her thoughts. She was always so sure, so determined. To disregard the concept of morality was detrimental to her success in not only her work, but what she wanted to do for herself. She wondered why it was that, with the entrance of an impertinent ghost, she began to genuinely consider virtue. 

She entered the hub of her ship. She listened to the mechanical whirs of the machinery she had spent so little time focusing on. She could not stand to stay in one place for so long, her legs moving her toward her goal much quicker than her mind. The colors that flourished throughout the cockpit, she designed for mental stimulation. And yet, with years of expertise, with hours of time put into designing and roaming the breadth of her ship, she grew used to the machinery that littered her craft. She ignored the buttons that flashed to no purpose on masses of metal as well as the multicolored decoration that was strewn about the walls. 

She took her hat off and itched at her head. She had been unused to the bright colors of her own ship, spending most time in places that surrounded forlorn forest. In Mafia Town, she would be both heckled and praised, the inhabitants carefully teasing her enough to leave without her giving too much thought to fighting back. The time spent at Alpine Skyline, with endearing townsfolk and intelligent fauna had mostly consisted of Hat Kid trying her best to avoid polite conversation. She wouldn’t try to return to the city of birds. Although Bow Kid made temporary residence with both the Conductor as well as the DJ, Hat Kid herself had been expelled from the studio far too often. As an actor, she was frankly insulted. The two birds seemed to have taken a begrudging affection to Bow Kid, unlike herself.

She pushed into the kitchen, placing her hat back where it should be and gave a tiny yawn. When pushing the doors open, she had the sudden realization that she was searching for stillness. She spent so much time thinking and reacting, acting before thinking, she never quite understood how much she enjoyed the repose of the darkened grove. It was unfortunate, she thought, that her vibrancy never pruned because of it. Her personality meshed quite terribly with the area, despite her fascination with it. But, like most things, she would grow bored of it soon enough. She was just waiting for the moment her interest would wane.

She had the absent thought to return to Mafia Town when swinging open the kitchen doors. She might have backtracked, returning back to the hub to simply stargaze, had it not been for the cat exploring her empty fridge.

“Oh hey there!” Cooking Cat said with a surprised delight. “I thought I’d let myself on, given that it’s the crack of dawn. I didn’t think a small one like yourself’d be up so early!” Hat Kid blinked. She had almost thought to check her watch, as if the clockwork would have been able to give her a correct answer. It was true that it technically told the time, though she had particular trouble discerning which dimension each hand corresponded to.

“Is it early?” She asked. 

“I suppose you wouldn’t know, being in space and all,” Cooking Cat tapped her chin with a finger in thought. She stood at her full height, grabbing the side of the refrigerator door to look at Hat Kid. The thought of Cooking Cat’s height pressed only briefly in her mind. Last time she had visited, they had been the same height. Now, the top of Hat Kid’s forehead reached the points of her ears. The cat must have shrank. “Where I’m at, the sun’s barely peeking out from the horizon.” 

She hadn’t slept in two days. Which hadn’t been surprising. There had been weeks in which she stayed awake caused by determination and spite. She had turned off her alarm quite a bit ago, finding it quite bothersome to keep up with her own schedule. She didn’t realize how tired she had been until she realized just how long she had been awake.

“Food would be nice,” Hat Kid admitted, rubbing at her eyes very slightly. When was the last time she ate anyway? She hadn’t kept track with that either, focusing on the parcels of information and relics she might have missed on the planet below. 

“I agree, but…” She glanced back toward the fridge. “Where is all of your food?” There was a very brief moment of silence.

“Oh right,” Hat Kid was embarrassed to find the fridge empty days prior. Threats involving the Snatcher were a roulette; she had never been able to understand the difference between a joke and a genuine warning. The threat of throwing her food away had been a clear example. “I, um. Lost it.”

“You lost your food,”

“...Yes,” Cooking Cat gave a sigh, pinching the bridge of her (widdle) nose.

“I suppose I need to get you some, don’t I?” Hat Kid very quickly shook the head at the prospect. Refusing assistance from others was a habit she often followed through with, and one she didn’t particularly care for breaking. With help, there were always debts to be paid. 

“I just—I usually get fast food.” She said simply. Which had been true! It was rare that she visited the metro, though she snuck to the subway to stock up. In her trash bin, boxes of rice and pizza have been left discarded. She clicked her tongue in a slight frustration.

“You should come with, little Hattie, you can choose what I cook for the day.” She closed the fridge door with a smile, dusting her hands off with a clap. Hat Kid huffed in a bit of frustration, upset that the cat wasn’t listening to her. 

“But, I don’t need—”

“Now you know I won’t take that for an answer.” She said simply, grabbing the bag of what Hat Kid could only assume was supplies for her work. “Do you know what my job is, exactly?”

“Cooking things?”

“It’s cooking things for other people,” She gestured toward her hand, her mouth gently upturning into a smile. “I’m not gonna let you eat metro take-out today. We can make something together, if you want!” Hat Kid paused for a moment. She was embarrassed at the first thought that came to mind; the idea that Cooking Cat had been tricking her somehow. By taking her hand, she would find a way to exploit her interests, like many of the other inhabitants of the planet. She was hesitant, but she nonetheless grabbed her hand. Bow Kid would have trusted her. She can too.

“Where are we going?”

“The Metro!” Hat Kid huffed at this, frowning a little. 

“But—but I thought you said…?”

“Well, I use it to get around,” She tilted her head only slightly in thought, the low light of her kitchen filtering very softly on the edges of her fur. “I know a good grocer out of Green Clean—have you been to the station?” Hat Kid had been chased by the Cat Yakuza through the station, wounds from scratches and burn marks from launchers marking her skin. She recalls the innocent cats who quickly hid as she desperately pushed herself to move throughout each station, each breath giving sharp jabbing pains at her chest. 

“Maybe…?” She said with a nervous chuckle, scratching the back of her head with a free hand. They walked out of the hub. The small lights that blinked frantically, the buttons that had only existed to be pushed sat beckoningly, they hadn’t bothered her as she walked out with the cat’s hand in hers. Hat Kid took it upon herself to beam them out of the ship. Unthinkingly, she pressed the button on the side of her watch, and in less than a moment they both had been in the dark underground of the metro.

It looked the same as she had last left it, black humanoids kittens roaming the populated underground. Glancing back, she watched the jewelry store that stood behind her. Golden adornments had been outlined by the faint colors of the blinding lights that littered the metro, the rest of the room coated in shadow. Last time she had been, police officers crowded the building. The Empress begrudgingly complied with their orders. The building was empty. She frowned, looking back at the cats that scattered the area. To her left, Cooking Cat’s fur had stood on end, her posture stiff and worried.

“Oh—uh,” Hat Kid said, watching her hair slowly recede. “Sorry.” Very gently, Cooking Cat licked her paw and pushed back her fur. The way she shook her head reminded her more of the animal she had looked like, her hair very quickly fitting to place.

“Warn me next time!” She chuckled, before looking around the metro. Still, she held Hat Kid’s hand, her paw pads pressing against her own palm as she scanned the area. It was an unfamiliar feeling, quietly being led by an adult by the hand. She had only read about parenthood in textbooks, something she didn’t have the privilege to experience. Silly that she didn’t care. Despite this, it was strange to put herself in the situation, pretending only for a moment to be the daughter of a small cat. “Ah right. It’s been a while—I haven’t been this way in a real long time.” 

She was silent as Cooking Cat led her through the metro. Hat Kid tried to stifle the frustrated look she nearly gave as she walked, being led through an accessible route she hadn’t even considered. It had taken only a moment for them to enter the sea of lime green lights that flooded the area, the lack of sunlight giving the area a luminescent glow feel. Bow Kid loved the place. She made quite the name of herself in the metro. Naturally, being a fanatic for anything kitten shaped, she vowed to help any stray that was in need. Hat Kid got mixed with the wrong crowd, undoing most of her work.

It didn’t take long for the both of them to stand near the electronic tracks that buzzed with life, waiting patiently for the cat that eagerly tugged the metal convoy. Bits of litter, the trash sort, had scattered about the platform. Empty cups that sat unused next to the trash can led her eyes to wander about the casualness of cats that scrolled through their phones or held conversations about topics she couldn’t understand. Hat Kid tried to ignore the glances that pointed their way, some cats spiritedly pointing at the woman she had been standing with. She forgot of the esteemed connections she quite often waltzed into. The Conductor and the DJ, although she had her falling out with one, had both been well known movie directors. ...Perhaps they had been the only movie directors, actually, as she hadn’t seen a movie directed by anyone else. Not to mention the Snatcher, a well known killer, who she had been honored with the looming threat of impending doom. She gave a small sigh through her nose as the train slowly pulled forward. The orange tabby gave a loud cry as it peeked to its side, mimicking that of a train horn as its eyes shone a bright yellow.

She hadn’t really noticed her legs moving her forward, stepping along with Cooking Cat into the train. “Watch your step, there.” She said carefully, raising her palm very gently. She had been talking the entire way of stories from her career, her drawl sticking out from the crowd. Really, she had been trying to listen, though the words had rang thin through her conscious. As she spoke, Hat Kid tilted her gaze toward the other section of the train. She… hadn’t considered entering the train before. It was brighter than she thought it’d be, LED lights aligned in rows on the ceiling. They both stood inside, Cooking Cat gripping the pole to her right and holding Hat Kid’s hand in her left.

Hat Kid used to be shy.

When she was younger, less experienced and without proper training, she had been afraid to talk to new people. The idea of aliens intimidated her. Morality had been important to her. Hat Kid glanced at the hand that held hers, Cooking Cat still very happily and absentmindedly chatting about her own exploits. People on Earth were kind. They were far from nice, the Snatcher’s constant harsh words echoing in her mind. But they were kind. The Snatcher had been at some point, the decaying painting that hung in that woman’s mansion fresh in her mind. She looked at Cooking Cat. She had been both, her gentle gaze falling upon Hat Kid.

“Are you alright?” She asked Hat Kid. This snapped out of her mild stupor.

“Oh—I’m fine,” She said. Her mind tried to string a proper set of words together, yet her brain was clouded with thoughts of the covers that sat in her bedroom, shielding her from the dangers of the world for just one more day. She couldn’t return to her room. Not with the Snatcher stubbornly making his stay there in spite. She gave a reluctant yawn, letting her eyes trace the tiles of the subway car. 

“You’ve been awful quiet this whole trip!”

“I just don’t have a lot to say…” She admitted.

“Now I know a lie when I see one, Hattie,” She said, a tone Hat Kid didn’t recognize in her voice. It seemed condescending to her, but there was a hint of nurture that was hidden in her tone. “Something’s troubling you.” 

“I’m… I might just be tired.” She admitted. “But I can’t go back to my room.” Cooking Cat gave an angry huff, very quickly turning her gaze toward the window of the subway. Lights flashed quickly from one end of the pane to the other, passing in patterns until they would course through the tunnel and into the bright colors of the metro.

“I swear—if it’s that no good Snatcher you’ve got holed up in your room, I’ll—”

“No! Nono!” She quickly rebutted. She paused “Well… Yes? It’s my fault, I pushed him too hard.” There was a small ring of a bell as the train slowed to a stop, letting various move about the train. People retreated and entered, some carrying briefcases while talking on a phone, some happily talking with friends. Cooking Cat sat down in one of the lines of chairs that had freed up and offered Hat Kid a seat. It took more than a moment for Hat Kid to realize what the offer was, but as she sat down she had suddenly overcome the need to fight off the drowsiness that swelled over her.

“Maybe you can explain to me what’s going on?” Hat Kid stared blankly at a particular tile, her eyes almost glazed at the spot. 

“I wanted to know more about the guy,” She mumbled. She hadn’t expected the shame and guilt that plagued her tone. She felt her face grow hot at the prospect, feeling guilty over the consequences of her actions. She spent her life learning not to regret her choices; regret most often led to bias and bad decisions as she was told. “I ended up prodding too deep and he got… mad at me.”

“Mhm.”

“I dunno. I thought it was fine,” She tugged at her cape as she sat, twirling the yellow fabric between her fingers. The smooth cloth tickled at her palm slightly. “But I… I was curious. And after a while, I think I actually… I actually wanted to be his friend?”

“The best option you’ve got is to apologize,”

“But that means I was wrong!” Hat Kid said very suddenly, the passengers of the subway car easily ignoring the sudden noise. “I’m not wrong! But he’s… I don’t think he’s wrong either. With being mad.” Her voice slowed as she spoke, her eyebrows furrowing in slight confusion. As if she had been on the brink of realizing something. It was surprising to see Cooking Cat laugh at her statement.

“You’re a curious little alien, aren’t you?” She said heartily. With another ring, Cooking Cat stood. With Hat Kid’s hand in hers, she led her out of the train. “Think about it. And really think. Why do you think he would be mad?” Hat Kid paused.

“I…He has secrets that I don’t know about,” She said. “And I’m really close to figuring it out.”

“And you don’t think he’s upset because you’re treating his privacy as a mystery?” Hat Kid flinched at this, gripping her paw a bit tighter. Strands of fur peeked through the openings of her fingers. “I know you don’t want to admit that you’re wrong, but sometimes that’s just what it takes to be a good friend.” They walked toward the large set of stairs before them. Sunlight trailed from the large opening, her eyes squinting at the sudden and harsh rays.

“...Yeah.” Hat Kid felt a lot more vulnerable around her. Which was bad. Somehow. It put her at a disadvantage somehow; this would give Cooking Cat an opportunity to control her later down the line. She looked up at the cat who very pleasantly glanced at her. She would make a good mother, she thought. “I don’t know how I would apologize… He doesn’t really like me right now.”

“...I have an idea,” 

Snatcher made it fairly routine to enter her room uninvited. He’d do what he needed to in Subcon, and simply let himself in. She never seemed to mind herself, his entrance frequently unsurprising to her. His appearance would always be at random. The kid’s library was hidden within her spaceship, mainly untouched and abandoned. Books he had never heard of had filled each shelf to the brim, titles predictably sorted by the author. He placed the book he had been reading on a nearby table, absently disinterested in helping the girl organize. He pulled a random book off the shelf.

An Introduction of Quantum Physics. He put the book back where he found it, disinterested in the sciences. Time Warps and Also Black Holes. Once again, he returned it, giving an annoyed huff. Spaceship Interior Design. He nearly put the book back into its ridge on the shelf.

“Hm.” He held it with both hands, scanning the pink cover with the vaguest sense of interest. Memories of when he first died were muddled. He forgot them for a reason; he never quite cared to let them resurface. His insistence for the subject of law then was absurd. When he was half starved, freshly renewed, he would read and reread the same books about legislation to keep himself busy. To distract himself. It was torturous, each word from the text imprinting into his brain as he practically memorized each word. The guilt he felt as he read was always immense.

After years had passed, he had expanded upon his interests. The idea of interior design on a spaceship was comedic to him. Hat Kid could not have read the book, given the nature of her ship. He resigned to taking the book.

He entered the hub. Pink and yellows were strewn about the ship haphazardly, the carpet mimicking that of a rug on a kindergarten classroom. He scoffed as he opened the book, turning to the first page. As he moved his hand, he followed his finger to the child. She had curled into a little ball, her hands clutching the yellow cape that wrapped around her torso like a blanket. She snored quite loudly for someone of her size.

He thought for a moment. It was unfortunate that the calmest she would be was when she had been sleeping. The anger he felt subsided within the first day, his thoughts at the time drifting to a time he had struggled to forget, but his stubbornness would often overshadow his emotion. He truly didn’t care for the kid or what she had been doing. But if he gave up the act, it would mean that he was _wrong_.

He moved through the small doors, continuing his routine. It was often that, despite her anger, the kid took one of his contracts. The way she puffed as she printed her signature, exiting the room before either of them could think to say anything. The room, over time, had become his. He felt a smug pride as he entered the room. He could make the equivalent to taking candy from a baby, though part of him knew that the metaphor would fall flat. The baby, in his case, had been stronger than him on occasion. There was something strange he felt as he thought about his stay in the girl’s room as she slept on the floor just across the hall.

He moved toward his spot and sat, beginning his descent into new literature. The smell of breakfast hit him hard. He nearly put down his book, the sense of regretful nostalgia pouring through his body in waves. To his left, he saw a plate. Pancakes. They had been stacked in a neat tower, syrup expertly flowing down the pile in slow droves. Pieces of bacon lay strewn neatly in a small heap on the side, little bits of syrup touching the edges. He stared.

There was a note. It was folded very neatly next to the plate, little doodles littered about the paper.

“I helped make breakfast! You won’t want to hear it from me personally, so I’ll say it here: Sorry! PS: I think I made the bacon too crispy? Let me know!” She signed the paper as she did with their contracts, her little persona giving a happy wink. Around the borders of the paper, she attempted to draw him. Each figure had been misshapen with the face giving a peculiar smile. He moved his eyes toward the plate, his hands still clutching the paper.

Could ghosts eat? He let a hand hover over a lone piece of bacon, trying not to let his fingers crush the meat against his palm. Flakes fell onto his lap in droves. He saw the way the syrup melted into the batter below him. It was a slow bite. 

The sense of gratitude he felt was disgusting. The memories that resurfaced were even worse. 

* * *

“Mmph…” Hat Kid mumbled. Her hair cluttered about her face in messy strands; she used a finger to brush bits of it aside. It was routine that had woken her, that made her rise from her bed. The blanket quietly fell from her shoulders with a crinkle. The bed was so wonderfully soft under her; she always found it so difficult to leave. To start the day. Ignoring the alarm she had set for herself during the night, she would often work to renovate the ship. To stargaze. She allowed herself small moments to distract from work. When she had finished, she would often collapse into bed, ignoring the hat that still sat atop her head. She was slightly confused to see it hanging from the coat rack. 

Snatcher read disinterestedly from his ledge, his yellow gleaming eyes absorbed in a new book. He scanned each page much slower than his last, taking minutes for him to get through a single page. Of course, his last expedition had been to read through a children’s book. Curiosity poked at her, but she shoved it aside. It had taken her a couple of moments to gather the strength to leave her bed.

“Heya,” She said, her words slightly slurred. There had barely been a response. The Snatcher only waved, his face showing more emotion toward what he had been reading than the sound of her voice. “How’d I get in bed…?”

“I dunno.” He said monotonously. Her eyes trailed toward the empty plate, syrup staining the porcelain with a light brown. The note was shoved aside, barely touched. She stared only for a moment. She left the bed, trying to hide the intense disappointment that wracked at her chest. She had trouble finding her umbrella, presumably thrown haphazardly on the floor of her bedroom, through her clouded mind.

“The bacon was fine.”

“Huh?”

“The bacon. It was fine.” He repeated, flipping a page of his book. Hat Kid only stared in subtle confusion, her eyes scanning his expression for any sign that she could gather from his face. It was blank. He closed the cover of the book she suddenly recognized to be another from her personal library. “I’ll be going soon. If you wanted to make more, feel free to come down there and bring me some. For free, obviously.” He said before leaving the room. His exit had been unceremonious. 

She was alone. 

And after a quick moment, she cheered in silent victory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to make an edit of the chapter—sorry if you commented! The chapter publication date was incorrect, so I was forced to reupload the chapter. Nothing changed in the chapter, so there shouldn't be any worries! 
> 
> As for the chapter itself, I think the comparisons between Hat Kid and Snatcher are really obvious here, but it should drive the point home. Also, sprinkling in a little bit of my autistic headcanons on them both because why not. And Cooking Cat! Very glad she's here! Sorry for posting this a day late, final's week has been really killing me. I hope to post the next chapter in time! 
> 
> Thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> A couple of things to say.
> 
> A. Although up to interpretation, I honestly based the duet they play on this [Howl's Moving Castle cover I found!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZJUg8UuJHkQ)  
> B. Secondly, let's please ignore the fact that there are violins in the Big Parade level... For the sake of my foolishness?  
> C. I entered this fandom early 2018. When I went back to it very recently on the switch, I was VERY surprised to see the amount of Snatcher content. A few headcanons and boom I'm sucked in.  
> D. I really, really want to stick to the schedule I made for myself, but I also need to prioritize my own health. If enough people like it, I'm SURE i'll finish it. But with college applications and exams, I need to make sure I get everything else in check.  
> E. On that note—Hello! This is my Dadtcher fic. There are many like it, but this one is mine! I understand that this is probably going to be buried under a LOT of other fanfiction, so if you come across this one, thank you for reading! I hope you enjoy it.


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